Fractured Heritage

The plate lay shattered, two halves of the whole,

my grandmother's careful hand now feels distant,

each jagged edge catching the light like a sharp memory,

a rift opened in a word, an argument spiraled out.

The kitchen feels heavier, where echoes

of laughter once danced among porcelain dreams—

it's all so brittle now, fragile as trust,

laying silent, like a truce, impossible to mend.